Italy's Remedy
by KayosHybrid
Summary: Germany is coming to terms with the bizarre and uncomprehensible Italy in their first few awkward meetings, and Italy impulsively seizes the chance to get him to relax. Oneshot. /CRACK/.


I wrote this entire fic based entirely on the prompt of Russell Howard's anecdote of doing the same with his sister or something to remedy a situation. Thought it was just so innocent and weird and hilarious that I had to apply it SOMEHOW. Plus, I need to work on my crack-writing skills. Wasn't sure how to end it, but ah heck. Classic Italy anti-climaticness/ruiningthemomentness. Enjoy!

* * *

"Hi, Germany! Ve ~"

Germany watched as the bubbly Italian boy bounced his way over, already bursting into whimsical babbling, striding uprightfully to meet him. It had been a while since they had seen each other, and Germany could not deny being a little concerned. He wasn't even sure why he had agreed to this rendezvous, other than for some reason he wanted to spend a greeting getting to know Italy (a notion he vaguely remembered being herded into with some troublesome facial propaganda). Well, better than such situations as the 'tomato box fairy' and hitting him in the face with the butt of his rifle.

Actually, they had met once before under the same confusing conditions. Germany felt that the secondary arrangement had been nothing short of an ordeal. Before they were even prepared enough to shake hands or exchange greetings, Italian lips had pecked both of his cheeks. Scandalized at the Italian's brash actions, Germany could barely comprehend what to do or say. Italy had apparently decided they got on like a house on fire (Germany agreed, but on a less proverbial level, slightly alarmed) and had enthusiastically convinced the German they ought to spend more time getting to know each other and hanging out. Germany quickly and flusteredly suggested they organised to meet another time. He was really very busy and so was Italy, considering he devoted so much time committed to flirting to flocks of beautiful girls and the love of his life – pasta.

And this was that time. Germany could only hope this third-time lucky streak would pay off.

He had to remind himself that Italy was not a boy, but a man. As a grandson of the great Roman Empire, he was most likely many a century Germany's senior. Despite the oblivious, blissful facial expression that didn't point towards much sophistication, Italy had already collected centuries worth of history, art, music and culture. But, looking at his round, youthful, Mediterranean face, Germany noted the pair of them looked very much the other way around. Which was sad really, consideri-

"Aw Germany looks anxious! Hug~" Italy spread out his hands and locked them warmly around Germany in an affectionate, soothing embrace.

Germany was not soothed. In fact he flinched into complete stillness, spine unnaturally uncurled to a ram-rod straight shape. What was he doing what was he doing they were in public they were both men they didn't know each other long what does this mean what should he do. Don't fret, the Italian will see your discomfort, realise his mistake, take a step back with a hasty apology and _order will be restored._ He'll notice the awkwardne-

"Oh, you look unwell Germany! Your eyebrows are moulding together, that can't be healthy and not many women like that!"

Germany was sure he was going to pass out, the close proximity and intense awkwardness impossibly stifling.

"Don't worry Germany, I can eat stress!" Italy proclaimed with mindless abandon, childish disengaging to strike a determined, 'I'll have you know' pose.

Italy then proceeded to 'eat' his stress.

Germany could not fathom what to do or say. He ought to have looked quite mortified, – he later reflected – but instead just stood there as if his brain had shut down, blanching at thin air – the dipsy Italian occasionally wandering in and out of his peripheral vision chomping his mouth through the air like an infamous Japanese-American arcade character.

He wondered absently if Prussia had slipped something exotic and quite possibly illegal into his morning coffee, feeling disengaged from the situation as his future companion made a valiant, convinced attempt to dispel the problems of the world by eating them out of the air like some sort of trans-dimensional snack.

Germany had been convinced, somewhere in his brain that was still functioning, that he ought to have burst out with protests and admonitions. Maybe even just leave. But for reasons unknown to quite possibly everyone on the face of the earth (perhaps in exception of the bizarre Italian) Germany stood there, brainfried, until Italy stopped with a self-satisfied huff and returned from whatever distance he had wandered on his stress-consuming crusade.

"Better?" Came a cheerful, exerted chirp from in front of him.

Normally, Germany would have come to terms with how appalled he was and try to avoid this lunacy. But confronted with that radiant smile he had never encountered before, the soothing allure of fine wine scent, big life-loving eyes…it seemed much more tolerable for the flustered man. With a hard swallow Germany tried to gather his senses, blinking away his stupor in response to the bright, unexpectant look beaming in his direction.

"…I-……..yes. Thank you." He surrendered with a sigh, suited shoulders sagging. His reluctant admission was rewarded by a brilliant grin and a shameless hand grasping his own considerably larger one without hesitation, tugging him down the street without resistance into the unknown whims of a passionate Italian.

"Great, let's go get something to eat!"


End file.
